


Perhaps-Perhaps-Perhaps Or, Azure Lycra

by executrix



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix





	Perhaps-Perhaps-Perhaps Or, Azure Lycra

LIZ: Where the man goes, the lady must follow (Strictly Ballroom)

LEAR: But to the girdle do the gods inherit  
The rest is all the fiend's

1.  
"If you don't make your mind up, we'll never get started," Avon said.

"It's true enough that I'm an opponent of the Federation," Blake said. "But this wasn't the one I had in mind."

"You promised Avalon."

"I promised her to do something to help out. Not necessarily this. I don't suppose you expect me to wear one of those mad frocks..."

For a moment, the vision of Blake in even a sensible frock darted through Avon's mind. "Certainly not. Nor will I. A simple black tailcoat--no, midnight blue, that looks darker--will be perfectly suitable for both of us." He had already considered, and sadly surrendered, the possibility of a sequined suit of lights for the paso doble--they'd have no chance to change costumes. 

"Providing a diversion is one thing. A laughingstock is another," Blake said.

"We might win, you know. Have you considered that?"

"The odds are too great," Blake said. "Rank outsiders...we've never done anything even remotely like this..."

"Vila?" Avon said, refusing to dignify that with an answer. "Start with the introduction please. Blake, I'll give you a count. On five."

2.  
Boredom, Vila reflected, makes people do terrible things. It had been a deadly quiet few weeks. It was indeed so quiet that Avon had agreed to the onerous conditions (playing with Gan as his partner against Blake and Jenna) that were the only ones under which he could organize a bridge tournament. In fact, throughout the tournament, Avon hadn't said anything to Gan that would have out-and-out justified a bloke who didn't have a limiter and did have a rapier in hitting him across the face with a pair of gloves.

Just at the point (Vila was sure of it...) that Blake was going to give in and set a course for a pleasure planet, the call came in. Blake was bored enough to accept, and Avon must have gone way past ennui and come out the other side to dream up any idea as daft as this one.

And that's when Vila made the mistake of admitting that he could tickle the old pub joanna a bit. Cally dug out a keyboard from somewhere, Gan put up mirrors and a barre in the crewroom. And Couple 138 (M. Chevron and R.B. Lincoln, registered from a box number address) began rehearsing for the Bilaterally Symmetrical Ballroom Dancing Federation Pan-Galactic Amateur Five-Dance Championship.

It was hardly a novelty for Vila to watch Blake and Avon arguing, but this was the first time he was expected to provide musical accompaniment. Even worse, he had to do it in a herky-jerky stop-and-start fashion that maddened him. 

Cally brought in a tray of mugs of tea. "All right, once again. Vila, from the top. Blake, on five. One-two-three-NOW! Five-six-seven-eight." Cally watched Avon somehow glide forward (although his feet seemed nailed to the floor) toward Blake, his pelvis in a sort of elliptical orbit. 

It was strange, she thought--the lower half of his body, apparently equipped with four-wheel drive, seemed out of communication with the rigid top half, which she might otherwise have characterized as the result of having a broomstick jammed up his arse. 

Cally wasn't sure she would trust Vila with a piano concerto, but she thought he showed a nice light touch that made the inane popular tunes and emasculated classical excerpts surprisingly listenable. Blake seemed to share an inherent musicality with Vila. Avon, on the other hand (or the other left foot) seemed determined to stalk, entrap, and shoot the wily Melody, returning from the battle with a stuffed and mounted trophy.

"Slow," Avon chanted, looking up a little into Blake's eyes (not very much--he had the Wardrobe Room make a pair of soft leather jazz shoes for Blake, while he himself wore cuban-heeled boots). Their eyes locked. {{Good}} Avon thought. {{Now he's not looking at his feet.}} "And slow and. Quick-quick-quick." The fingers of his left hand twined with Blake's right hand, and he put his right hand on Blake's shoulder. "Back...back...left-right-left."

Cally sipped from one of the mugs, wondering what the faint sibilant sound was (it was Blake's corduroy trousers), tapping her foot in time with the few bars of music that flowed until...

"*Dammit*, Blake, we've been over this a thousand times..."   
Vila ground to a halt. "*Four* basics. Quarter turn. Six basics. Two whisks--yours are left-right, mine are right-left. Promenade--promenade--promenade. Triple finger turn."

"And that's just what I did."

"But you went the wrong way on the whisks, and the turns are inside, not outside..."

3.  
"Only fair, innit?" Vila told his steaming commander. "I mean, he made the thing up, didn't he? So he should get to lead. The dancing, I mean."

"Vila, you're a genius," Blake said over his shoulder, en route to the nearest terminal that would accept stylus input.

{{Genius, eh? The penny dropped at last?}} Vila thought. {{And here I was thinking I'd be lucky not to get thumped}}.

4.  
Cally thought, {{You can shake a tail feather, but you've got chickenshit for rhythm.}} "Avon, where do you feel the rhythm?"

"I don't feel it, I reason it. Vila has taken the tempo down for rehearsal, but when we're up to speed it will be 130 beats per minute."

Well, I'm glad he isn't my partner, Cally thought, blushing a little at the impropriety of the thought.

"Not everything is rational, Avon. You can't really appreciate art and music and...other things...if you insist on reducing them to mathematical formulas."

"Civilization is about bringing the irrational under conscious control."

"That doesn't work for everything. There are emotional factors--chemistry--"

"Well," Avon said, "I don't believe in standing on pheremony."

5.  
"No subtext?" Jenna asked.

"No, none at all. You see, rhythmic gymnastics are an important part of every Auron's education, and I quite miss that form of exercise. But...well...of course I know that I'm very far from home, but...the fact of it is, no well-brought up Auron would ever engage in suggestive public contact with a person of the opposite sex. It just isn't done. So, although I'm sure I would have little difficulty in persuading Vila..."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Jenna said. "All right, we'll give it a try."

6.  
"Jesus Christ!" Blake said, with reference to Avon's rehearsal clothes. White singlet and black...well, it couldn't be a coat of paint because it flared at the bottoms of the legs.

"Hot in here, isn't it?" Avon strolled over to the barre, put his right knee up, and began to stretch. He knew that Jenna and Cally could do full stretches with their ankles up on the barre--and Cally could even bend back in arabesque--and he resented it bitterly.

7.  
"You know, there are quite often meteor showers in this part of the Sector..." Jenna began. Her jaw shut with a snap as, indeed, a meteor shower hit and she fell against the console.

Avon threw his arm over Blake's shoulder, seized Blake's hand, pulled it forward, and promenaded him four steps away from the sofas, talking intimately, which was simple at that distance. "About that bloody silly combination you came up with for the Viennese waltz..."

Their heads snapped around in perfect synchronization as Blake reversed the position and promenaded Avon four steps back. "We won't make any sort of showing if we don't do any lifts, will we? And the fact is, I can lift you and you can't lift me. That's all there is to be said about it." He put his hands on Avon's waist, lifted him a few inches upward and a few inches to the right, and set him down.

Avon, disconcerted, went back to dance position and pulled them back in the other direction, cheek to cheek. "It's not a simple matter of hoisting dead weight, you know."

"Of course not. It's better if you help."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course."

"Oh, all right then."

8.  
Jenna's eyes bulged for a moment, then she decided that if Cally could stand to appear in public the costume she had just sketched for Jenna's approval, then she could stand to be seen with someone wearing it. 

The bodice of Cally's proposed costume was completely covered with fabric roses, cream shading to fuchsia. The skirt (knee-length in front, ankle-length in back) was parrot-green maribou, toning in with the "emeralds" in the tiara.

Jenna had already had the Wardrobe Room whip her up a sensible blue stretch jumpsuit with white trim that could be worn after the competition, plus a silver chiffon toga ending in a fishtail train and a jeweled belt to cinch it over the suit and a headpiece with three nodding plumes.

"Lovely, Cally," she said in a statesmanlike manner. "It should really suit you. We'll keep rehearsing in our regular shoes, of course, but closer to the day we'll have to practice a bit in the four-inch heels to get used to them."

By a coin flip, they had already decided that Cally would choreograph the Viennese waltz, samba, and tango, whereas the less experienced Jenna would take on the foxtrot and paso doble.  
They produced the acetate printouts of their initial choices, and after about an hour with marking pens and the tape player, they went off to memorize their steps.

9.  
"Not to worry girls, it'd be a pleasure to {{watch you keep grabbing each other}} help you rehearse," Vila said.

"That's all right, Vila," Jenna said. "The disk player is voice controlled. We'll get along fine. And anyway, you need your rest, after playing for all those rehearsals of Blake's and Avon's."

10.  
"Oh, good morning, Gan. Would you like me to spot for you?"

"Thank you, Avon, that's very considerate of you." A few effortful minutes later, Avon helped him stack the plates back on the weight rack. "I'd be interested to hear your suggestions for an upper-body program," Avon said.

11.  
Vila craned his neck to watch the mirrored wall. For the first time, he stopped playing of his own accord. "Avon, you're topping from the bottom again."

"In this context, Vila, the word you want is 'back-leading.'"

12.  
Jenna spun twice under Cally's arm, then did a waltz turn.

"I'd like to try something," Cally said. "Turn back this way, and do a leap, with your arms stretched forward. No, let's go from the turns again, to build up your momentum."

Jenna leapt, and at the peak, Cally's hands grasped her waist and floated her down. Jenna laughed in pure delight. "That was marvelous--like one of those dreams with wings. How did you do that, anyway?"

"You're no weight at all, Jenna, and the Auron center of gravity is a bit different to yours. And those gymnastics I mentioned? Balanced development of the body is always a goal, as is enhanced strength."

"I suppose we're ready as we'll ever be," Jenna said. "Is your costume ready? Perhaps we should try a dress rehearsal tomorrow."

13.  
{{Hopeless}}, Vila thought. {{They say it's a poor workman that blames his tools, but look at what that Avalon saddles me with, lovely girl that, I always liked auburn hair, but not very practical...}}

Lieutenant Milsom must have gone straight from finishing school to rebellion, and only Avalon would think that there was any chance of passing her off as a spiv. She was thin, with no-particular-color hair, tiny teeth, and a receding chin. Neither her natural debutante slouch nor her more recent military posture was the appropriate plastique for a ticket scalper, which is what she was supposed to be.

Security at the Central Bank of Gournev was usually fairly light, and today it was positively pathetic. The dance-mad Gurnivians cashed in vacation days, called in sick, or otherwise did whatever it took to get to the Sports Palace or at least to a wide-screen holovizcast of the event. 

Consequently, it was the best time for Avalon to stage a raid on the bank vault to obtain the files and records that would prove Chancellor Ruvitzkoi's involvement in an interplanetary traffic of children for specialty bordellos. Avalon was certain that the evidence, once promulgated, would result in the downfall of Ruvitzkoi's government, and the election of at least three Oligarchs who were inclined toward neutrality. It would be a long process, but Gournev's trading partners might be inclined to test their ties to the Federation just a little. 

"Just cover my back, Charley," Vila said. (The Lieutenant's first name was Charlotte.) "I'll do the rest of it." Vila reverted to his on-ship slouch, swept an expression of bestial cunning over his face, and further got into character by chewing a non-existent toothpick which the guard would nonetheless be willing to swear that he saw.

Vila shambled over to the guard. "Psst--got two pairs o'tickets here." This was quite true. They were even genuine tickets for excellent seats (competitors got house seats). "One for you, one for your mate." 

Vila's heart was wrung by the passionate longing on the guard's face, and immediately increased the price he was about to demand in sympathy. "What I heard, is that all kinds of rebel scum will be infiltrating. So it could be going undercover, like. Catch 'em, and you'll be a hero."

A minute later, the guards rushed away (one of them wearing Vila's jacket as a disguise--swapping had only cost him an extra hundred credits), knowing that they had just enough time to battle through the traffic, sell the extra pair of seats to the highest bidder in the crowd, and take their seats before the Planetary Anthem.

Vila put on the uniform jacket, stood ramrod-straight, and walked backwards past the security monitor as he palmed two hundred credits. Then he disarmed the monitor and motioned to Charley to join him. "Look what I got!" he told her triumphantly, handing over 300 credits for the cause.

Vila had to admit that it really was a pretty good bank vault, and it took all but five minutes of the time allotted to that phase to open it. Avalon's Digital Squad had already determined which safe deposit box belonged to Ruvitzkoi, and had his private key cipher that could be deployed as soon as they had the original documents.

You could pretty much open the safe deposit box itself with a hairpin, so Charley opened it, showing off a bit. 

All done, with five minutes left in hand. While Charley worked on the safe deposit box, Vila, for lack of anything better to do, opened the main vault. "Hoy, Charley!" he said. "Bet you've never had a knee-trembler in a whole vault full of money before."

14.  
It was still early, so they went past the Sports Palace. The vizcast commentators looked oddly tense and frightened--not the usual demeanor for a much-awaited event like this. Charley shivered, drawing the guard's jacket tighter around her (Vila gave it to her as a souvenir, and it was handy for carrying the secret documents). 

Charley plunged into the crowd, asked a few questions, and emerged, her face drawn with anxiety. "Whatever shall we do, Corporal Restal?" she whispered. "It seems that they were getting ready for the opening ceremony, what they do every year is they unlock the vault and take out the trophy cups, last year's winner sends them back so they can be presented again. It's quite a to-do, you know, people going back and forth. Well, it seems one of the judges brought his grandson along, just a wee mite, and by the time they got the cups out and so forth and took them to the auditorium, they discovered that the little fellow had toddled his way in, and they'd locked the vault behind him. But the vault takes five separate keys to open, and one of the judges had to leave right away, she's thousands of spacials away already, by the time they get her back, the little chap will have suffocated."

"So you reckon I should make 'em stand aside and open the thingummy up for them?"

"Well, yes, of course. But someone might recognize you...and they might ask who I was and what I was doing here...and this has simply got to succeed, it's got to."

Vila knew exactly what to do. He didn't hesitate for a moment. "Gan!" he said. "Teleport now!"

15.  
Inside the Sports Palace, the spectators, inflamed by the spectacle of non-Federation-sanctioned choreography, or perhaps by the rumor that notorious rebels had infiltrated, climbed over the barriers and swarmed onto the dance floor. After a long moment, one trooper dropped his rifle, ripped off his helmet, and bowed to the nearest woman, who was startled but not unwilling, and soon the other troopers followed suit (whether with their comrades or local partners).

The dancers often collided, bouncing off each other like molecules in solution, because some of them didn't know that you're supposed to dance counter-clockwise and by that point some of them didn't care. The spirit of Carnival reigned and the text belonged to the fans and joy was palpable.

The chaos offered the perfect opportunity to teleport back to the ship.

The judges, shaking their heads at what Things Are Coming To These Days, ripped up the ballot papers and didn't even try to locate Couple 244 (Jordana of Auron and Carla Stanwyck) to give them their trophy.

15.  
Technically, Vila was on teleport duty. Although Gan was supposed to be on the flight deck, he wouldn't miss the homecoming for the world.

First Cally, holding out her hand for Jenna to touch lightly as she landed, poised on one toe, her other leg stretched at a right angle behind her.

Then Blake, in profile, his right leg in a deep lunge, his left stretched behind him, paralleled by his outstretched left arm. Blake's right arm supported Avon in a deep backbend, the long line of his throat gleaming, set off by midnight blue cloth.

"That's lovely," Gan said.

"Flamin' June!" Vila said, caught between admiration and snigger.

Startled, Blake dropped his arm, brushed his palms against his tailcoat, and blinked, looking around the familiar surroundings.

Avon spent about two bars with his arms wrapped around his knees, glaring, before he got up and unfastened his white tie (paved in caviar beads).

"Business as usual on the Liberator," Jenna said. "I don't know about you, Cally, but my feet are killing me. Can't wait to get these stilettos off and back to sensible shoes."

###################  
If you fall, I will catch you,  
I will be waiting...  
Time after time.


End file.
